Two Horse Race
by Telaka
Summary: Whilst drifting in space the X-Men are picked up by a colossal ship, 150 years from their present day. Lost and rendered helpless they have nowhere else to go except with the crew of the Enterprise NX-01...
1. Encounters

**_Two Horse Race_**

**__**

_Author's Note_

After delving into the world of X-Men Evolution AU's I grew a bold, brave streak and decided to have a go at a crossover between my two favourite things, X-Men and Enterprise. I did my research, I pondered and brainstormed, and I think, I think I was able to come up with something that passes as a good crossover that will work in the end. Call me crazy, but judge for yourself after you've read and let me know what you all think. So, good luck. 

_~Telaka~_

Days it had been… no… it had to be longer than that, weeks perhaps? Weeks that could very easily have been months and months, years. In space a sense of time could undoubtedly be lost far faster than it could be kept, certainly it had become so on his small team of mutants.

He felt a great swell of pity for them as he stood before them, back turned, and an even greater bundle of guilt that lay upon him. He had been the one who had led them here; he had personally hand picked and assembled them for a mission that was no more that a false alarm and in the middle of space of all places. It was definitely not the best of territories to be making mistakes in, but he had and now his team was to suffer for it along with him.

Slowly, reluctantly, he turned away from the window of the space adapted Blackbird that displayed their endless black surroundings and faced his group of six.

If he had been asked to pick out the worst off amongst his numbers he would have pointed straight towards Ororo, no question or doubt about it. With no atmosphere she cared to try and control and no connection with Earth's nature to be made in this merciless void she was slowly and painfully losing any of the spiritual essence that made up a generous amount of her mutation and being as a whole. It was horrible to watch, heartbreaking. She rested beside Logan, for now sleeping but she would only awake in a few hours as pain stricken as before, if not more so.

Logan. Well you never could tell with him, certainly he couldn't anyway. Restless but silent most of the time in these cramped conditions, he was at least coping.  Grudgingly so, but he was.

Across from him sat Rogue and beside her Remy, both still determined to torment the life out of each other, as their bold accents flew in whispers towards each others ears. This made him smile, slightly.  Their antics offered some relief from the mind numbing silence and tranquillity of space at least.

He was brought to consider his wife next as she rose from her seat beside Ororo and stood next to him, smiling sadly with her radiant green eyes. Her past experiences in space hardly brought forth the fondest of memories but still she somehow managed to push that to the back of her mind and bury it. He took most all of his courage from that.

Then there was Hank, the small ray of hope that kept them all sane. For most of their time up here he had poured over the ship's computers and readings trying to find something, anything that would explain what had happened. So far he had come up with nothing but he did claim that he was onto something. So the team could only wait patiently and dare to hope.

And then of course there was he himself, Scott Summers, fearless leader of the X-Men. Fearless enough to be blinded from to the upcoming disaster that would spell out their currently doomed situation. 

Everything had happened so fast, so maybe for that he could be forgiven.  But still, it had turned out to be too fatal a mistake for him to make and let it pass without some heavy level of remorse. 

People as proud as the Shi'ar did not just hail for help, certainly not from the likes of Earth bound mutants. Yet even they could not be blamed for the disaster that had literally hit them.

Scott in his head liked to describe it as some sort of tornado or storm (at least calling it a storm made it more acceptable to his messed up and confused mind) that had come from nowhere, hammering them with relentless and brutal force. From that the team had suffered minor bruises and swelling, Jean had even succeeded in gained a concussion. Now though they battled with fatigue, hunger, agitation, sweltering heat (the cooler had given up with the main line of power during the blast apparently): a list too long to mention all their complaints.

That could have been a week ago, it could have been four, but it took what felt like an eternity and a day before that something Scott was looking for from Hank happened, and the small ray of hope that he had clung to with his desperate optimism widened. Beast coughed roughly and straightened his back, focusing his strained cat-like eyes on Scott who looked up eagerly as he did. 

"It would appear, oh dear fearless leader, that there is other life out here in this playground of space. The computer's scanners are picking up another vessel and quite a big one at that."

For all the painful wishes he had made to make this moment happen, when it did Scott began to look more than a little sceptic. Maybe it was the numbness of space, but it almost seemed too good to be true though. "How can we be sure it's safe?"

This was where Hank's eyes seemed to glimmer in a smile too wide for his furry jaw to make. "The computer also says there are human occupants aboard, about eighty or so."

Scott's worried doubt faded somewhat and he began to allow the faith to seep back in again. "Can you send out a distress call to them?"

No questions about why a ship would be this far out in space and if the occupants were even to be trusted, human or otherwise, sprang to Scott's taut mind now; the desperate part of his confusion was beginning to kick in, hard, almost completely throwing the short lived doubts and worries. 

Hank nodded and turned back to the screens, his long black claws moving swiftly across the keys with far more life in them now that hope spread.

Beside him Jean said nothing but her look was that of trust as if to say she had known all along that her husband would get them through this eventually.

The others too were silent, even Remy and Rogue had stopped their seemingly endless bickering for now. 

Ororo's particular lack of words, or any general noise or movement, even in her sleep, was beginning to worry him again though, a lot more than it had before. Logan too wore the slight emotional expression of grave concern for the woman he had known and considered a valuable friend for countless years now. He would never say it though, as if confirming the worries with words would reinforce the situation.

Scott was forced to forget her for now though as Hank turned back to him again.

"I've sent the message, now all I think we can do is wait some more."

Scott nodded and told Hank to take a break, which he obliged to eagerly.

Scott, at least at this moment in time, much hated waiting games.

Nothing could ever really fully express the feeling Archer received whenever he stepped onto his bridge with his crew ready for a new day and whatever discoveries (and more likely dangers) that lay ahead. It was a rush that never faded with time, one that was fresh every morning and forever brought him to smile, if circumstances were not life threatening. 

The shift itself would not start for another half hour but half an hour was how early he was every day almost without fail. The only other person who was ever there before him was T'Pol, hardly a surprise to him really.

He nodded and smiled when he saw her, wondering if these pleasantries were lost on a Vulcan but feeling a need to greet her so anyway. Her own greeting back was a little more forward.

"Sir, I've just received a distress call, about twenty kilometres from here. It's faint and broken but I believe the caller was," she hesitated for a second, almost as if unsure of herself, "human."

The last word caught Archer by surprise and his attention sharpened.

"Humans? Out here?"

T'Pol's face remained ever passive and now more certain as she nodded slightly. "Yes. I believe the accent was American, much like your own sir."

He leant over her shoulder and scanned the computer's readings with her. Most of it he didn't understand, at least not the details, he was a Captain, not a Science Officer. 

"We'll wait until Hoshi gets here and see what she has to say."

T'Pol nodded and Archer stepped back allowing her to on with her work.

Slowly but surly his strong, competent bridge crew filled into their stations, each greeted with the same smile and nod T'Pol was given, only they returned theirs.

If asked, he would never have picked any other life; space was his refuge, his present and his future and would be until his retiring years. He was confident, and right in saying, that most of his crew felt the same way.

Conveniently, Ensign Hoshi was the last to enter the bridge and was immediately set her first task of the day the second she did and took a seat.

"Ah, Hoshi, I have a distress call for you to interpret for me."

Looking a little taken aback by the sudden order but composing herself quickly she took her post with a nod and little question as she punched in commands at her station until she brought the call in question to play. She was forced to rewind the broken and faded voice twice before her sensitive ears could pick up anything.  All the while Archer watched in silence eagerness to see what T'Pol had picked up and what his translator could make of it.

Finally she turned to her Captain looking a lot more doubtful than T'Pol had pretended not to be.

"Sir, I think it's human."

Archer exchanged a quick glance with T'Pol then turned back to his Ensign. 

"What did he say?"

She shrugged. "The signal was really bad sir but I think he's lost and there's a group of them… I'm not sure. He did sound pretty desperate though, that much I'm sure of."

Again Archer turned to T'Pol. "Do you have the co-ordinates?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Mayweather take us to them."

The young Helm Officer nodded obediently in his seat at the front and instantly got to work.

Archer sat back in his chair shaking his head and almost smiling. Other humans, in the middle of space, lost. It was almost too obscure to believe but who was he to ignore a distress call if there was a chance that it could be genuine? And a big part of him hoped it was.

Every one of the small team of X-Men almost jumped over themselves as the computer released a harsh, ear cringing ring, the most beautiful sound any of them had heard for a long time. 

"What is it Hank?"

The furry beast spent not more than a few seconds at the computer typing furiously before he could report. He looked unsure of whether to be relived of worried, his eyes locking onto the window Scott had been gazing out of.

"Well if you look out and up Scott you'll see what 'what' it is."

Scott frowned behind his visor then crawled over to the small, round, rock hard see-through hole that counted as a window on this craft.

If anyone could have seen those hazel eyes behind the ruby visor then they would have wonder if eyes were actually able to spread that wide. His jaw almost literally hit the floor and his heart nearly stopped; certainly it skipped a couple of beats.

Jean gazed out and up with him and showed near the same reaction on her instantly paled face.

There were no grand enough words to describe it really. It was huge was all Scott could really say about it, for now anyway, (although that was an understatement in itself), huge and almost unreal, unbelievable – fantasy, like something out of a sci-fi series. 

The bleeping stopped and a crackly, broken voice replaced it instead. Hank strained to hear then nodded to himself.

"They want us to board."

Scott finally turned back round leaving Jean to stare along with Remy and Rogue now. Their faces all lined up together were quite comical to watch, amidst the circumstances. 

His reluctance was painfully obvious, although in these situations his choices were strictly limited, if not none existence. He had hardly the right to refuse what could be their only salvage from space's never ending grip.

His final nod was curt and Hank was quick in his response back to the colossal ship.

As Scott turned back to the window and heaved a heavy sigh he wondered whether this was going to be the end or only the beginning of something that none of his years as an X-Man could ever compare to.

~Well there it is, my brave, brave attempts at a crossover, hopefully it's better than what you expected. So, if it took your fancy then feel free to reviews, same with if it didn't, but no flames, I'll always have an answer back for mindless reviews.~

_~Telaka~_


	2. Accepting The Unacceptable

**_Chapter Two_**

**__**

Before I go on I have to say a thanks to my two friends, Iain and Ryan who know more about _Star Trek_ than I would ever hope to learn. Trust me when I say this crossover wouldn't be happening if it weren't for them. Thanks guy.  Oh, but don't get use to the sweet talk…

_ ~Telaka~_

__

_Captain's Log, Stardate 1805.87_

My team and I have come across what could be classed as our most extraordinary find yet; seven humans found floating quite literally in the middle of space with no fuel, no working engines, no weaponry and no idea of where they are. For the time being they have been housed in sickbay with Dr Phlox issuing examinations and once-overs. So far all seems to be in order, except for one of the small team, the one they called Storm, who seems to be ill with no just cause. So far the doctor has assured me it is nothing deadly or contagious but still, naturally I worry, for her and more importantly my crew, lest whatever it is spreads. Still, all I and the crew can do for now is wait and see what comes out of this crossover. 

_ -Computer End Log- _

           Not seconds after the log was finished Archer received a long anticipated call from sickbay.

"Captain this is Phlox, I need you to come down to sickbay if you could, as soon as possible. I believe we have some… answers."

Archer raised an eyebrow and hesitated in his response, if only for a second.   "Okay, I'm on my way."

He took off from his quarters hastily both in curiosity and slight worry brought on from before, and what perhaps the 'answers' could be. He tried to push back the worst of scenarios that came to mind though and instead dwelled on the curiosity. There were still so many unanswered queries, all of which he wanted resolved, soon. 

The small lost group's apparent leader, Cyclopes, seemed friendly enough, if not a little dazed, but that was excusable. Archer had but only five minutes to talk with him before Dr Phlox had insisted that he needed as much room as he could make for the seven so as to be thoroughly examined and cleared in his small medical bay. In a way he had ordered the Captain out.

Archer allowed himself a brief smile at this before he reached sickbay and allowed himself in. As soon as he stepped foot inside though Phlox issued him back out, coming with him to stand just outside the double doors. His facial expression was that of a cross between excited amazement and mild confusion. Archer raised one questioning eyebrow but didn't even have to ask before the Denobulan rushed into a hasty explanation.

"Captain, now correct me if I'm wrong here but didn't there use to be a branch off of the human raced that called themselves 'homo-superiors'?"

Archer hesitated for a second then frowned. "You mean mutants? Yes, but they died off about a hundred years ago. It had something to do with the 'Legacy Virus', a disease that killed them all off eventually. Why?"

With every word Archer told him Phlox seemed to grow more and more excited and astounded. "Well at first I believed simply that the scanners were just 'acting up', as you would so aptly put it, or maybe that they were another form of humanoid, uncannily familiar to humans. But now what I believe we may have aboard Enterprise with us is a surviving group of these so-called 'mutants.'"

Phlox's face lit up but on the last word Archer started, grabbing the doctor's forearm and instinctively pulling him back from the medical room doors. At this Phlox looked down uneasily at Archer's placed hand and the Captain pulled away quickly.

"Sorry, I forgot… you, don't like to be touched."

Phlox just smiled as he let go. "That's quite alright, no harm done. But may I ask why you look so pale sir?"

Subconsciously Archer touched on his cheek with his fingertips then eyed passed the sickbay doors warily. His voice dropped to a low whisper as he finally spoke back.

"They can't be mutants, that's impossible. And if they are then I want them off my ship at once.

Phlox raised a somewhat surprised brow. "Sir that's rather harsh, especially coming for you. I would have thought you would allow these people some refuge and hospitality just as you show everyone else we come across that needs it. And besides, one of their crew is quite sick so I would like to treat her and help her in some way, if you don't mind.  Perhaps learn more about there type, if she's willing."  He smiled excitedly again.

Archer snapped back in a tone that even took him aback although he didn't say it. "If they are what you say they are then they're a threat to my crew and my ship and I want them off."

"Captain, please. They been quite friendly towards me, polite and humble in fact, and one of them has this rather fascinating piece of equipment that changes his appearance. He seems to have taken quite a shine to—"

"Phlox."

"Sir. At least come and meet them before you throw them back out into space."

"Do you have an weapons in there?"

Phlox seemed to be growing an irritation to the Captain's reaction. "No sir."

"Call Reed, I want—"

"Sir!"

It was Archers turn to look somewhat surprised.

"If you would come and meet them then I assure you, you will see that they are not as bad as you would have yourself believe."

"But they're mutants!"

"And T'Pol is a Vulcan. As I recall you didn't much like Vulcans before you met her."

"I still don't like Vulcans very much, she's an exception, but they're not dangerous in general, mutants are."

Phlox sighed heavily. "I know little about these 'mutants' branch offs from your human race but these ones have not appeared or acted dangerous in any way what so ever. So, after you."

The smiling doctor opened the door again and extended his hand out for his Captain to go first. He went with a scowl. 

Six mutants stood, one sat, all talking quietly, almost apprehensively amongst themselves but stopped as soon as Archer stepped in.

The seventh sitting mutant tried to stand but another, a considerably short man clad in blue and yellow, forced her back down. She scowled at him, much like Arched had at Phlox.

Their leader, also clad in yellow and blue but with a different fashioned uniform, stood forward with a friendly smile and an extended hand to the Captain. His eyes remained hidden behind a dark ruby-like visor so those Archer couldn't see; he wasn't sure why that bothered him but at the same time everything about this did.

"Captain, I'm Scott Summers, also known as Cyclopes, and this is my team, the X-Men. We really can't thank you enough for—"

If Archer had looked shocked when Phlox had announced the possibilities of the team possessing mutant genes then it was nothing compared to how he looked when he heard the title 'X-Men'.

Cyclopes slowly lowered his offered hand when Archer didn't take it and frowned. "Did I say something wrong?"

Archer realised his jaw was literally hanging and shut it instantly, shaking his head and blinking a couple of times.

"The-the X-Men? You're kidding right, this is all a part of some lame joke right?"  He laughed uneasily and Phlox tilted his head at him.

The leader shook his head. "No. Is there a problem?"

Archer almost laughed again at the question. "The X-Men died out about one hundred and fifty years ago. Secret Government officials were given the go-ahead to release Alpha Sentinels that were designed specifically to lock onto the bio-signatures of registered members of the X-Men to hunt them alone down. Within hours they had been sought out and killed. Everyone knows the story, I studied it in History."

It was literally like hearing your death sentence being read out.

From behind Scott a Southern girl spoke up in a shaky, broken voice.

"A hun'red an' fifty years ago? What year _is_ this?"

"2151, why?"

"'Cause last time ah checked ma calendar it was 2015."

The whole room fell silent. Confusion reigned for hours after.

----

Rumours flew around the ship almost at warp speed and not hours after the X-Men had boarded the Enterprise NX-01 near to every one of Archer's crew had heard more than a few twisted and elaborated tales about their boarding.

As she sat down for her lunch in the loud, crowded mess hall Hoshi was joined seconds later by a rather excited, if not a little bemused looking Travis.

"Have you heard?"

She rolled her deep brown eyes but at the same time smiled and nodded. "Yes, I've heard.  Who hasn't?"

"Em, Cutler over there I think, her shift hasn't even started yet and she's only just came out her quarters for lunch."

"Well she'll find out soon enough."  Hoshi paused, picking fussily at her salad. So… mutants. Think they'll run us down and strip us for whatever we've got on Enterprise?"

It was meant as a joke but Hoshi kept a tremble of worry in her voice. Travis just shrugged.

"After all the Klingon and Suliban we've come across what's a couple of mutants to the Enterprise?"

"Seven actually."

Again Travis shrugged, none too perplexed at least by the idea of the seven X-Men lingering aboard the same ship as he. "The Captain wont let anything happen to his ship. And even if they're anything like their reputation then it's still about eleven to one odds in a fight, they wouldn't stand a chance."  He said it with a definite nod.

Hoshi would have liked to shrugged and nodded with the young Helm Officer but she couldn't help recall in her mind the tales her father use to tell her about the infamous outlaws, the X-Men, and their mutant kin. Still she had found them fascinating tales, so why now was she more scared than perhaps in awe?

Travis got back up patting Hoshi lightly on the shoulder. "Just watch your back."

She shoved him playfully and he left with a taunting grin. 

Right now she just hoped she wouldn't have to translate for anyone…

----

Scott was spending most of him time with the ship's Captain biting his lip and gathering a great deal of patience in the back of his mind to be used some time in the near future. He was massively grateful for the rescue, more so than he could ever express, and considered himself in great debt to Jonathan Archer but there was only so many times one mutant could hear the words 'Legacy Virus' and 'extinct race' before a man would begin to grow tiresome of listening to it. The fact that he hadn't eaten or slept for a good few days as well was also beginning to creep around the back of his swelling mind…

They stood in the Captain's 'office' of sorts with Archer's second in command, another alien by the name of T'Pol, standing silent and expressionless behind him. Scott couldn't say he was too keen on her. He himself would have had Storm standing with him but the ship's doctor (who so far seemed to be the only welcoming being on this vast vessel) was curious and anxious to see what 'mysterious illness' she had contracted in space. Scott knew exactly what was wrong with her but he would allow Ororo to explain that one herself to the kindly alien.

"And you promise that you pose no threat here?"

Scott sighed heavily and went to answer when T'Pol spoke up for the first time during this tedious meeting. "Sir, if I may."  She paused and he grudgingly nodded for her to continue. "These people have shown nothing but manners and gratitude to us since they boarded Enterprise. Furthermore to that they have no fit vessel to travel in and no supplies to live by. They are unarmed, one of their numbers is sick _and_ they are vastly out numbered here. If I am right in saying, Cyclopes, you can see yourself that there is no logic in attacking us here, and Captain I do not believe they were planning to anyway, correct?"

Scott nodded and allowed a twitch of a smile on his lips. As unsettling as this T'Pol was she was certainly reasonable. He liked her logic.

Archer stiffened but some of his apprehension and doubt seemed finally to drift away and his eyes filled with the belated curiosity now.

"So… you're all mutants?"

Cyclops's shoulders dropped in a shuddering sigh and even T'Pol seemed to grow impatient with his constant questioning worry as she shifted in her stance from foot to foot somewhat restlessly. 

"Yes Captain."

Slowly Archer extended his hand out for Scott to take and with an arched brow and a small relieved smile he took it in a hearty shake.

"On behalf of my crew of the Enterprise I welcome you and your fellow X-Men on board with us. I think we'll give the questions a rest for a while and maybe a small tour of the ship for you and your team would be in order?"

He turned to T'Pol who nodded her approval then faced Scott again. 

"What do you say?"  There was a smile in his proud eyes now.

It was returned in favour by Scott's own thankful nod.  "It would be an honour Captain."

----

It was quite a bit quieter in sickbay now that six of the seven mutants were gone. Phlox couldn't say he wasn't relieved by this and appreciative of the idea of a tour, one that would be hosted by the Captain himself. 

Now he was able to carry on with his work and have something of a more confidential one to one with the young African mutant he found in his capable care. He stood at her side whilst she sat on one of the beds and allowed him to scan her mind and body despite how uncomfortable this made her feel. All the time he kept a cheery smile on his face and a tone to match.  This seemed at first lost on her.

"So, what's your name?"

She answered with little mirth, or any much tone in her own voice. "Storm."

"Storm," he tilted his head and quirked a smile, "what an interesting name."

He finished his scan and carried on the forming conversation. "And you say you're a mutant of the human race?"

She nodded warily not sure of what feelings he held towards her kind. 

"Fascinating."

At this she slowly raised one snowy white eyebrow and looked up. "First time I've heard that response from someone in a long time, although I suppose you're not exactly human yourself."

"Aren't you?"

She shrugged.  Her mind was tired, to put it lightly; she wasn't up for delving into long and complex explanations on the morals and ethics of her kind. She also seemed to be too tired to bother with questions of her own about the alien who treated her, with his humanoid but distinctly different looks when compared at least to the norm of the human race. She had seen a lot in her lifetime though; little took her by surprise these days.

He left her on the bed whilst he moved on to process the new data. She sighed as she watched him.

"There is no point in all of this you know."

Phlox raised his head up from the computer and curiosity sparked in his amazing blue eyes again as he smiled, also again. "Oh? And why's that?"

Her smile was small, sad as she reminisced on past times and similar circumstances.

"The problem lays in nature, my friend. If you want a brief then, my mutant powers are linked closely to my home plant, Earth. The weather patterns, the very atmosphere there are mines to bend and control at will and through that I am tied to Mother Nature and her Earthly bonds. But there's no weather in space, at least not of Earth's patterns and kind, so the very essence of my being, my soul, if you like, was almost literally in a way torn out and left behind when we left Earth, or at least that's what it feels like."  She paused for a second as he studied her and her words with a tilted head. "So, do you see? The problem is not biological but spiritual."

Phlox smiles gently in full sympathy as she explained with a great strain in her misty blue eyes, those of a brilliance in the irises that matched his own.

"Yes, but you still show signs of physical distress so that we can try and ease I believe. So until then Storm, my friend, tell me more, I'm quite, what's the word…ah yes, intrigued by you and your mutant kin."

Again Storm raised an eyebrow. "Really?"  She laughed quietly and shook her head. "Well, before we start, my name is Ororo Munroe.  Storm is just a codename.

He nodded.   "Phlox."

"Phlox… interesting name."

"It's Denobulan. And Ororo, that doesn't sound like any typical human name that I've heard of before, although I have heard some funny human names in my time with the race."

Ororo laughed again, not quite sure if she was actually having this conversation. Nonetheless it took her mind off the pain, if only temporarily.

"No, it's not. It's from my mother's native tongue, a word meaning 'beauty'. My mother herself gave me the name."

Phlox nodded and smiled again. "Yes, very appropriate if I may say. I'll have to ask Hoshi if she knows this dialect, no doubt she does though."

"Hoshi?"

"Ah, out comm. Officer.  She possesses quite an ear for languages. It really is a shame you're not going on this tour, but perhaps later, non?"

"Yeah, perhaps."

On a couple of sharp alert calls Phlox was alerted to the ending of the data transfer and so he proceeded to work with a number of different veils and liquids, all the while still carrying on this steady and cheery conversation with his mysterious patience.

"So tell me more about these mutant powers of yours. You said something about weather control, correct?"

Simply thinking about it brought a twang of pain back into her heart but she pushed it to one side and tried to concentrate on what was being said. "Yes. Complete control over the weather, or at least any patterns I can find. On this ship there is some controllable atmosphere, but it is… how to put it… artificial? But on Earth the things I can do range from gentle downpours to full-blown thunderstorms, I can just about, but not quite, do almost anything within the rules of nature and sometimes a little more. Of course though with most things that seem too good for one person, it does come at a price."

She paused for a second wondering if he had any want for her to go on.

"And what is the price?"

She nodded a little to herself.  "My emotions."

He looked up from his work instantly, his eyes shimmering excitedly, optimistically even. "Really?"

She nodded solemnly herself as she shrugged. "The weather reflects my emotional state. If I get angry I could accidentally set off a streak of lightening and if I am giddily happy then the sun could become exhaustingly hot. There is a very fine balance between myself and nature, one I'm actually missing a lot right now."

The excitement in his eyes continued to brim around the edges. "Well if that's the case Ororo, then we may just have found our cure."

Her own eyes sparked then frowned. "How?"

"T'Pol."

"What?"

"No not 'what', who. T'Pol our resident Vulcan. "

"Who?"

"No, now what. Vulcan, the race. You don't know of the Vulcans?"

Ororo shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry… you've lost me."

Phlox dismissed her apology with a wave of his hand and smiled again. "Ah, well it's the Captain's job to figure out this mystery, I'm just here to cure the sick."

He got up abandoning his work with the veils and liquids and stepped in front of his patient his face beaming with an optimism Storm herself couldn't muster. 

"You are a most fascinating being Ororo. Any physician would pay dearly to have you as their subject, but unfortunately I am more concerned about fining a cure for the sick than experimenting on the new. Now excuse me." He reached over the bed and activated an intercom speaker behind her. "Sickbay to T'Pol, this is Phlox here, do you have a minute?"

"T'Pol here. Yes," the voice paused then continued; "I'm off duty for now.  Do you wish to see me?"

"Yes, I'd be most grateful if you could come down thank you. Phlox out."

He nodded in satisfaction them beamed at Ororo once again with his homely smile. She found his abnormally large grin a little unsettling but she couldn't deny her gratitude for all he was trying to do for her. She still doubted his efforts however. But at the same time she was still also to meet the cure. 

Oh, it was nice to know you all like the last chapter; I'm glad that it for now worked. I wasn't sure if I could pull this off, still not sure if I can but hey I guess there's nothing much stopping me. Chapter three will be up as soon as I find the time to type it.

~_Telaka_~


	3. Bonding

**_Chapter Three_**

**__**

Argh!  I know, I know, it's been a _long_ time since I updated _this _story, and it might have looked abandoned but it's not, I promise.  This chapter's a decent length so should make up for some lost time (but probably not a lot).

_deiron lionheart – _lol.  I love the idea ofmini X-Men/Enterprise bridge crew babies running about the ship.  Kinda got me thinking actually….

_~Telaka……~_

_Captain's Log, Stardate 1857.87_

I must admit that after three days I've grown a little less cynical and wary over the presence of our new guests; the supposed time travelling mutants; the renegade X-Men.  In some ways I _have_ to ease up about the whole affair.  There have been no threats or disregard to date so far from any of their number, and they still have no visible grounds in which to attack us on so far.  If all I have are stories of the past to go by, then it seems I'm going to have to put it all aside and let things happen as they happen.  It's predictable though that I'm not overly ecstatic about this.

My ship has been experiencing a few minor technical glitches but the group's leader, an aptly named Cyclopes, (with his head directed at his rather guilty looking Sub Commander) has said they are nothing of major concern or danger to Enterprise or its crew.

I'm even beginning to think that I can trust him.

-_Computer End Log-_

_----_

            One of the great ironies of Enterprise was that the noisiest and by far most active place during the working day became one of the quietest, most serine and peaceful place at night.

It was why Trip found himself drawn to the mess hall at almost midnight when he discovered sleep on this one night truly impossible.  Another irony with that – he felt complied to down a couple mouthfuls of caffeine during his visit.  Coffee right now was sorely tempting him.

            With a heavy sigh he entered through the double doors and headed directly for the drinks dispenser.  In a weary but lucid voice he called out for a black coffee and took it in his hands not five seconds later.  Handling it with tentative care he balanced its to-the-rim contents perfectly until he turned round and was met by the devilish green eyes and smirk of Rogue.

            "Jeeze!"

The rim tipped and coffee dribbled down his bare wrist.  He ignored the Southern girl for a second to swear fluidly at the scolding he received from the steaming brown liquid.

            "Probably a sign that you shouldn't be drinkin' that stuff at this hour suga'."

Trip's eyes slowly climbed back up again, across to the two-seater table Rogue occupied by herself.  From there he was at a lost on how to respond.

He had listened to the rumours just like everyone else, even made conversations out of them with Malcolm and Hoshi.  He had been intrigued and sceptical at the same time but, for the three days they had been aboard, only seen the group of six minus one once, during the engine room part of the tour.

And until now he had still to confront one face to face.

            He had never been a fan of the glorified terror that had been mutants, never wished to believe in them and their stories and decided promptly that if they had existed he would have been just as willing to snuggle down with a Vulcan as he would to shake the hand of a mutant. 

Still he was curious.  He was as curious now about the Southerner in front of him as he was about T'Pol at times…

            "So, what _are_ y'all servin' on this here fine night?"

When he caught on to the accent he delivered to his wrist another little spill.  This time he didn't notice so much, or care, either one.

She delivered a slight smile to her face.  "Ah think ah'll avoid the coffee anyway."

Hastily wiping away at his sodden wrist with his mouth Trip straightened up and finally greeted his companion for the night with a little less silence and bemusement.  He actually managed a smile of his own.

            "Actually the coffee's not bad, considerin'.  Name's Trip."

He extended his clean hand and with another smile she took it in a none too delicate shake.

            "Rogue.  So what brings such a fine Southern gentleman like your'self to a place like this in these ungawdly hours?"

            "Ah might ask the same."

            "Got nowhere to go, have ah?"

Trip nodded in fairness to the questioned answer.  "S'posse.  Y' wantin' anything?"  

Rogue smiled and shrugged and Trip found himself biting his lip at the sight of her striking green eyes, the most visible of her features in the grey light.  A lot of her pale face stayed hidden under a sea of thick auburn hair and a baggy green hood.  Still, beyond it all were still her eyes…

            "Ah've been sittin' here the better part of an hour throwin' that thing growlers."  She nodded to the dispenser accusingly.  "No one told me you speak to the damn thing to get what y' want.  So ah guess now that the experts've arrived, ah will be havin' the coffee ah was wantin', seein' as it's approved by Southern standards an' all as well."

She smirked again and he felt complied almost to lean forward and take a better look at the cheeky red lips.  Then the word 'court-martialled' came to mind and he quickly reconsidered.

            "Coffee it is then."

Rogue watched curiously as the engineer crossed over to the dispenser and spoke to it in a flat instructing tone, same as before.  And true enough it gave him what she wanted.  With a small smile he handed her the steaming refreshment after the simple ritual.  She could have kicked herself, if she had had the sleep she'd been wanting for the better part of three days now.  That and she didn't fancy kicking herself, really.

            "Probably not as good as the real homemade stuff, but if it does us, then it should be fine."

She nodded and allowed Trip to take the seat across from her with his own dark liquid that he finally began to slip down his throat.  As she stirred it with her gloved finger, and found fascination in watching the swirls of milk he took a deep silent breath and quickly flattened his gold streaked mop of brown hair.  He knew he should have let Hoshi cut it the other night.  The fringe remained resilient and kept parts of itself up and to attention.  He was fighting a loosing battle and so reluctantly let it be.

After the battle with his hair he coughed slightly and shifted several times in his chair before he managed to find his voice and indulge in conversation.

            "So, where ya from?"

Rogue looked back up with those deep emerald orbs and he found himself shifting about, again.

            "Mississippi, an' about a hun'red and fifty years from the past. Yourself?"

His coffee stopped midway in its travels up to his mouth and was slowly put back down on the metallic surface of the table.  Granted he had heard that part of the rumour – and also scoffed openly at it.  Rogue sighed.

            "No one's carin' to admit it, but it's a fact as clear as… day."  She looked hesitantly out at the black void of space and frowned a little.  "But whatever we hit, well it sure as hell wa'nt a hunkin' big piece o' rock."  She tipped back the coffee and downed most of its black content in one greedy swallow.  "Anyway, ah'm sure Cyke'll catch on sooner or later."   There was a sly hint of a smirk as she drank again.

Trip's pale eyebrows dropped in a slight, curious frown.  "Cyke?  Your Cap'ain?"

The smirk became a simple smile.  "Well, more a leader than anythin', not really 'Captain'.  Ah mean, it's not like he's got a ship."  

It was an amusing thought, Scott in a sailor's suit.  Amusing until Jean came into Rogue's head, with her own outfit…

            "And you don't call him Sir, or anything like that?"  It seemed to have slipped Trip's mind he was talking to a mutant now.

Rogue laughed quietly and took some coffee, finished it actually, as she shook her head defiantly.  Her hood began to slip a little.  "Why'd ah call him sir?  His name's Scott."

Trip had to consider this one.  Calling Archer – his best friend – 'Captain' had become something of second nature to his tongue.  Yet actually thinking about it now, it did seem a little formal, almost trivial.  

He then began to wonder why, of all things, this was what he was having a conversation about with the only other Southerner he had come across in six months.  He decided to keep going with it though, for some reason or another, and smiled offhandedly, in his usual fashion.

            "S'ppose it's just a mark of respect really."

Rogue leant forward on the table and placed her elbows on the edge.  "Well Scott knows we respect him, most of the time.  He don't need no Captain title for that.  Anyway, try getting' a guy like Logan to call _anyone_ Sir, never mind Scott."

Trip sat back at a loss with the name, and the snide joke.  He decided though just to nod slowly and finish his coffee, wondering again why he was discussing formalities and title with this girl.

With eyes that lingered for no more a second he noted with more silent curiosity how covered her body really was.  Her face was the only place where any of her pale, flawless complexion could be seen, the rest of her was clad in green and black.  

            "You got a nice ship here."  

She managed to bring his eyes back up and paint a small splash of red onto his cheeks.

            "Aw, em yeah.  Starfleet's finest."

Rogue would have asked about this 'Starfleet' but for now she was taking every new term she was given as they came – not questions about anything.  Questions led to jargon, and she hadn't the head for space/future jargon.

            "So, what you guys doin' all the way out here in this lonely ol' neighbourhood?"

A small hint of pride slid into Trip's eyes and he smiled again.  Even his chest swelled slightly, she thought anyway.

            "We're explorers, travellin' across space to make first contact with planets and humanoid races.  Doesn't always go well, but that's what we're out here for."  He paused for a second and realised she was more than a little interested now, so he happily continued.  

            "Ah'm here as head of engineering, so ah basically keep this beauty flyin'.  Archer's our Captain, ah know you've met him, an' T'Pol, she's the second in command.  You met her yet?"

Rogue shook her head and again the hood slipped a little.  A daring grin passed over Trip's face.

            "Aw, you'll like her. Our own resident Vulcan.  Although in all fairness she does kinda grow on y' after a while.  And ah'm third in command here, after her."

Rogue smiled, laughed almost, as she watched the Southerner swell a little more with his still admittedly quite modest pride.  It almost seemed to her he didn't get to boast a often.

            "Then there's Malcolm, the tactical officer and chief pessimist."

Rogue did laugh this time, pleasing Trip some more.

            "Hoshi's our translator, nice girl, a little nervous though.  Gotta be nice to her when you meet her.  Travis is the other guy that keeps us flyin' our Helm officer, and then there's Phlox.  Now him you've met, right?"

Rogue nodded, remembering the strange, but very likable, doctor.  With an inward smile she also remembered Hank's almost overwhelming joy when he clasped eyes on the medical marvels surrounding him.  There was probably where he was as they spoke.  Certainly the doctor seemed as fascinated by him as he was of the equipment.

            And just as Hank had found himself quite taken by the impossibly sophisticated equipment, Rogue found, without being able to honestly deny it, that she was quite taken by Trip…

            "So, chief of engineerin', an' third in command.  That's pretty impressive, if ah may be so bold as to go ahead an' say."

Trip smirked.  "Y' may."

Rogue shook her head and raised a brow.  "An' modest too, well ah _am_ impressed."

Trip finally sat back in his chair, relaxed, and Rogue repeating the action with him.

            "So…" he grew tentative with his words now, considering his next statement, "you're a mutant."

Rogue sighed, any slight smile disappearing as her eyes dropped to the table.  "Well that one was sure t' come.  Don' worry hon' ah don't bite, just sting a lil' sometimes."

Trip decided to let the tail end of the remark slide.

            "Well it's a good thing ah'm not intimidated, least not by you."

Rogue's eyebrow shot up again with her gaze and a wicked smile played across her lips, she couldn't help but let it.  With her leather gloved hands she took her hood and dropped it.  A fall of auburn hair slid down her shoulders and with it, down the sides and at the front only, two snow white streaks sat framing a delicate, but firm face.  She was both feminine and sturdy.  Trip didn't even think that that oxymoron was ever physically possible in anything else other than the rare few female Vulcans (T'Pol included) he had come across in his time with Starfleet on Earth.

Her lips, a much darker red than he had originally wagered began to move and he thought maybe the word 'intimidated' hadn't been the best to use.  As she continued to talk he knew that word hadn't been the best to use.  

            "Ah'll give ya one small warning 'afore we go carryin' on here."  She tossed back some stray chunks of hair and smiled more subtly now.  Her eyes were still on fire though.  "One touch, one simply tiny touch o' skin to skin contact, _anywhere_ between us, you wont have a clue what hit ya an' ah'll know more about you than your cap'in Archer does.  Memories, thoughts, wishes an' hopes an' fantasies," she paused for a second and he swallowed, "ah'll know 'em all for now an' forever."

She watched him squirm slightly and softened her voice and eyes again.  "Just a warnin' suga'.  Ah've had too many boys findin' out the hard way what kinda a mutant ah am.  Don't mean ah don't think you're still cute."

Trip stopped squirming.  He nodded a little instead, and even managed a smile that wasn't big and stupid.  

Behind them was a gentle swish of air and the mess hall opened up once again to allow two more late night wonderers in, T'Pol being one of them.

He almost swore when he saw the other come up on the Vulcan's heal.  She was tall, exotic, well built and with the most striking of features.  Someone was torturing him tonight.

A mass of pure white, silver streaked hair sat atop a dark smooth face, that in the middle held the bluest of eyes the young Commander had probably even seen, or ever remembered seeing.

Trip was a reserved being though, or certainly more so than most men.  He wasn't aware of it, but he was acting more a gentleman with more self-control that most any other man could even pretend to claim in such a situation.  It didn't really make any of this any easier.  The word 'court-martialled' continued to commanded his self-control really.

Finally, know his squirming could no longer go unnoticed, (T'Pol's brow had gone up on him) he got up.

            "Well, Rogue, it was swell meetin' ya, but ah've gotta go get maself some shuteye 'afore the next shift."  Before he left though he leant in for a brief whisper to her ear.  "That one there's T'Pol, by the way." He smiled and nodded.  "G'night and good luck."

Rogue bit her lip to stop short of a laugh as Trip left and T'Pol eyed him silently.

            "Is something wrong?"

Rogue straightened up at T'Pol's flat tone and Storm coming out from behind her.  Storm, deciding to be a tease, looked from Trip's empty seat, to her dear Southern friend, and then to the door the engineer had exited, before back to Rogue.

            "Nothin' the matter ma'am.  You just have yourself a nice ship here.  An' some nice engines too."

----

            "And they say Heaven isn't a personal affair."

Sickbay had never been met by such eagerness since Phlox himself had taken his first optimistic steps into its cool, pristine scope of the ship.  Eyes had never examined it with such fierce wonder and a jaw had never gloated with such admiration since Phlox.  No one had ever taken to it like a shrine other that Phlox, and no one had ever really truly appreciated the place other than Phlox.

It was clear Phlox was something of the nature of overwhelmed and even thrilled to have such a spectator in his midst. And with no patients and all manner of biological life fed he was far more than happy to boast away to his blue fuzzy companion. 

The blue fuzzy hulk that was Hank seemed to have taken something of a bright-eyed interest in the cages of recently fed bugs and insects and was far from afraid to stick the occasional black claw into the black holes of cages and cubes. The frequent shakes and squawks of violent protest did nothing but place a wide smile on his cat-like muzzle before he would turn to Phlox, who was leaning on one of the beds, and ask the predictable question of 'what's in the box'?

            "That," he answered to wire-wrapped cage along the rim, " is where my Pyrithian bat lives.  Although I try to be impartial I have to admit a favouritism in that particular specimen. Quite a feisty creature when it wants to be."

Hank moved along to the next small plastic tub with tiny holes along its upper rim and Phlox beamed quite literally from ear to ear.  "Ah, my osmotic eel.  Similar to your Earth eels I believe."  He paused as he watched one black claw tap the side experimentally.  "You know, I should tell you when the next feeding time is.  You might even grab a glimpse of some of them, if only for a second."

Hank turned his yellow eyes back to Phlox with the same twinkling awe that a fresh new millionaire would possess right to heart.  He almost seemed wary that a cruel and private joke was being pulled from under him, just to watch the childlike joy shatter from his smiles.  This was far from any truth though, and in the same light Phlox was almost unsure of how genuine Hank's newfound love was.

But of course neither had much of anything to worry about and Hank quickly took up Phlox's offer.

            The midnight hour was slowly beaten away by the earliest of the morning's reign, yet for the newly acquainted couple the long hours of the third day, and the new ones of the fourth, possessed almost no sense of time at all.  Hours were easily minutes, and the minutes nothing. Denobulan and mutant seemed to have struck some sort of harmonious cord, and of course the appearances of ridges and blue fur were nothing of concern or matter.

The only tragic thing about the coupling was it was one of only a few enthusiastic meetings with the new crowd of lost X-Men to date.  True the ship's numbers did not discard their new members with any distaste or hostility, but neither were the band of seven spoken to much, or approached at all really.

            Phlox and Hank were only dully aware of this at the time.  What they both took more interest in than anything else was the way the Pyrithian bat reacted to a nibble on one of Hank's finely filed black claws.  They seemed to have the same desired effect on it as Phlox's toenail clippings did… 

As Hank reiterated to his dear new best friend on the wonderful discovery, "And they say Heaven isn't a personal affair."

----

            Dawn it was, perhaps a little after, Logan gauged.  His fine nose hairs took in the unappetising scent (for himself anyway) of hash browns and waffle, with Vulcan cuisine and other alien recipes picked up on the majestic ship's travels that the crew had taken uncanny likings to.

His stomach barely twitched, despite the fact that it had lived on mere herbal tea and whatever Ororo had decided to eat's leftovers.  The artificial process of it all, from the drinks dispenser to the food on the metallic plates, unsettled him in ways he didn't express to anyone, although Ororo was perfectly aware of the unease that mirrored her own.  

He had found refuge over the past couple of days in a small lounge that for the most part occupied an empty beige carpet and a bar stand.  He had also come across a bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the only other thing he had feasted on for the three days.

It was there where he was now, and where he intended to be left in peace.

            Her long strides broke through the automatic doors slowly and carried her gracefully, but wearily to the stood where he sat with his glass and his Bourbon.  Her blue eyes both smiled and scowled at him with a small twitch at the corners of her brown lips.  His own eyes remained trained on the swirling contents of the glass.

            "Logan, is that yours?"

Finally, with a seeming amount of effort he lifted his eyes and turned his head to her as she settled beside him.  Anyone else would have been greeted by his usual hostile grunt and rough accent telling them quite frankly that they weren't welcome.  But with her he could not be bothered and only shrugged.

            "What d' you think darlin'?"

 She shrugged back.  "I think it's the Captains, and I wish you good luck on his discovery of it."

Logan nodded.  "Good luck t' me then."  The glass was raised and the rest of the drink downed down his throat.  After that he left the half empty bottle be and gave her a more respectful amount of attention.

            "How y' holdin' up then 'Ro?"

She was tempted to shrug again but instead smiled quietly.  "As well as yourself."

He grunted, but it was more a halfhearted laugh.  "We aint made for space an' all this technology junk at all, are we?"

Ororo's laugh was lighter, but also sadder.  Her eyes left his and hit the bar in reflection.  "No, no we aren't…"

The closets thing to sympathy that he could express flitted across his level gaze.  "Y' really hurtin' then."

She produced a wiry, knowing smile.  "No more than you." 

----

            A dark pink hole emerged suddenly on her face as she stretched back and yawned languidly.  The small cold bed she now found herself sprawled across felt like a luxury far surpassed its actual comfort and its sheets and pillows more a rich satin than smooth thin cotton.  Across from her, her roommate would probably have said the same thing.

            Archer had finally found spare quarters.  There weren't seven of them, but there were seven beds and with some adjustments and furniture movement the X-Men were finally granted proper rest and sleep.  None of them complained.

Jean turned to her side and smiled weakly at Scott.  Feeling her dark eyes on him he turned and faced her.  Words were not said for a long while.  Their long trails of thought ran almost parallel though.

Reality was only really catching up on them now.  They couldn't deny time travel as a very real possibility to how they had ended up here now, in the year 2151 now and on the Enterprise NX-01 now.  It was all worthy of a headache – the entire situation and what it implied – but to have any plausible reason behind events right now eased the anxiety and worry that had come to plague the X-Men. 

Jean yawned again.  Neither had any clue to the time, and had no way of gauging the day, but for all it was worth on this small matter it could have been midnight or noon, they wouldn't have cared.  Her eyes finally began to drift closed.

            "Do you know how the others are?"

She started a little and blinked furiously as she shook herself to attention.  Scott was up on his elbows, again.  He was restless.  She sympathised with that, he had something of a burden on his shoulders right now, but she was tired, and he should have understood that.  But she hadn't the heart (or more so the energy) to let him know this.  She did sigh loudly through her nostrils however – her way of throwing him a gentle hint.

            "To be honest, I haven't really seen any of the others.  I've been with you most of the time, playing 'Sub Commander'."

With this she did manage to smile thinly.  'Sub Commander' had something of a ring to it, even though she wasn't one, and would have to pass the honourable title down to Storm as soon as she declared herself well enough again.

Scott didn't share in her smile.  "Have you seen Storm?"

'Speak of the devil…' she thought.  "Yes, Logan's taking good care of her, and she him."  She paused then considered a list for the others in the hope of easing some of his angst.  "Rogue's smitten with the head of engineer and Beast's smitten too, with bats.  Gambit's taken a liking to space food and we're here now, finally able to sleep."

Scott frowned, but he was only considering Jean's list.  His minute of silence was enough for her to let herself lower her head down onto the pillow again.  She came so very close to sleep as well.

            "Smitten?"

After another start her teeth began to grind.  "Goodnight Scott."

He looked around the small warm room and seemed only now to notice the darkness and the comfort of his bed.

            "Right… night.  Okay."

It was three o'clock in the afternoon.


	4. The Away Mission

**_Chapter Four_**

Half past three saw the looming of a dusky red barren planet on the bridge's wide monitor screen and the lighting up of Archer's tired hazel eyes.  He stood slowly from his cushy chair and watched the mass grow in front of him as Enterprise flew closer into its region. 

            "It's uninhabited."  

Archer turned to T'Pol.  He had already made up his mind that they would be going down.  With this being their first planet in three, almost four days, he would not be passing it with a wistful wave.  

Yet still it had to be safe first.  "Is there _anything_ down there?"

The Vulcan merged her focus back into the scanners and readings for a minute before a report could be made with anything of interest to her Captain – and despite the planet's seemingly deserted and lifeless surface there were rare traces of life.

            "Insects and capon, although the exact species are not on the database and neither is the planet.  The Vulcan's are yet to collect data, although it is classed as a rogue planet."

Another rogue planet.  It wasn't exactly an exhilarating prospect, to discover new bugs and birds, especially on a rogue planet, but the promise of land and somewhere different to walk around on for a couple of hours tempted his ever curious and headstrong nature sorely.

T'Pol watched the restlessness stir about in his eyes and felt compiled to offer him an excuse for a mission.  "We are behind on our lesser species research.  And perhaps…" she paused for a second, watching her Captain gaze at the planet as if it had evolved suddenly into a beckoning paradise, "we could invite our guests down to explore with us."

He turned, very slowly and hesitantly, from the monitor to his second in command.  Her head tilted slightly.  The expressions of doubt and anxiety that she had expected to see where not there on his face however, but instead a small wiry grin.

            "If they agree to come along then I don't see why not."  He nodded to self-confirm the idea.  "Okay T'Pol, gather an away team, ask the," he hesitated, still uncertain of what truth was behind the lost group, "X-Men if they're willing to come along and maybe we'll make a fieldtrip out of it."

One of T'Pol's long thin eyebrows rose.  "A fieldtrip." 

Archer's smile grew.  He was back to playing proud Captain, knowing he would be able to show off some of the more wondrous sides to space travel that he wholly doubted any of the X-Men had ever seen before.

            "Maybe we'll even pack a lunch."

----

Storm was losing hope.  She felt she was losing a touch of sanity as well.  She was not happy in space.

For an hour or so now she had wondered the ship aimlessly.  She had circled and pried in every available corner and vent, only stopping short of strolling across the bridge and into the crewmember's quarters.  She was doing this on advice from the sage T'Pol.  It was suppose to help her grasp her bearings.  It did no such thing.

It had been after the tour that they had talked.  T'Pol had guided Storm around the ship on her own after Phlox had announced the mutant to be free of any contagious infection.  The tour had ended in the mess hall.  As T'Pol talked her through how to win food over from the dispensers Rogue had left and two had become alone. 

            "Dr Phlox tells me you work to keep your emotions oppressed." was the first thing she had said to her all night that didn't involve anything to do with the ship and its techno-babble. 

Ororo turned to face the Vulcan after watching Rogue go with a small teasing grin.  She had sat down and beckoned for her to join her at a small round table for two.

            "He also says you're feel unsettled and distanced with being this far out in space.  That you've lost… certain connections with Earth."

She nodded.  She was beginning to grow use to the sound of T'Pol's emotion-starved voice.  She was also growing use to the way that her eyes clashed with that emotion-starved voice.  They spoke too much and were too bright, too compassionate in their plane brown hue to be fully oppressed of emotion, as they should have been.  The voice and eyes did not match, and were even unsettling to watch as a pair in a subtle sort of way.

Storm had paid more attention to this detail than anything she had been told about the Enterprise.  Now she was paying a more due amount of attention to the level gaze that was fixed on her, and eyes that were seeking to be helpful.

            "It's interesting that you choose to control your emotions when so many of your kind simply let them domineer and act foolishly on them, using them as excuses for acts of violence and crime."

The conversation had gone from there.  Storm had smiled thinly at the comment, knowing that in her time it was painfully true, and T'Pol's eyes were far more than simply interested.  She never even stated her scepticism about time travel when it was mentioned briefly in passing, but was far more interested in hearing about the mutations, and why Storm had to be the way she was with her emotions. 

Trip would have said they'd 'clicked', that some sort of unholy bond between man and Vulcan had been formed and the mess hall should have been made into a shrine to honour this historical event.  Trip would also have received some heavily stern Vulcan glares.

But it was true.  It perhaps wasn't a friendship, or 'unholy bond' that had become apparent, but more likely a mutual respect and understanding, with more stress on the understanding part.

            The end result was that Ororo would try a meditating session with T'Pol, and it would be tonight after the away mission she had just literally been told about by Scott, who she had met in passing during her aimless voyage of Enterprise.  She had fifteen minutes to decide whether she was going on it or not.

Her aimless walking led her to run blindly into the man who would make up that decision for her.

"Feelin' brave den mon ami?"

He was standing in the corners of a shadow, as enigmatic and fool hearted as always.  Space had no effect on him, none that he was letting on about anyway.

"Gambit!"  She wasn't sure if she was in the mood for him or not, but looking up at his audacious Cajun smile as she stood back from him after trampling lightly on his toes she let the tension in her muscles slowly slip away.

            She sighed heavily and began to walk again, knowing he would follow, but first he took her by the shoulders and turned her the other way.  They began to saunter in the direction of the ready room.

            "No," was all she said quite frankly, finally answering the question.

He grinned charismatically again, his eerie crimson dashed eyes even glowing slightly.  "Den we go toget'er an' have a lil' fun, neh?"

She bit her lower lip and let her headache tumble away to the back of her mind next as she shook her head and despite every edgy nerve smiled.  

"As it was in Gulf City den mon ami." 

She nodded.  "You lead Gambit, and I will gladly follow."

----

            A fleeting spurt of dry red dust skipped over and around seven pairs of thick boot clad ankles, all of which stood relatively still and to attention side by side.  Together they formed an obediently straight line and every toe in the set-up pointed simultaneously to the planet's North where a blazing purple sun tore over the sky in its majestic reign.

Not more than a hundred meters from the row of ankles and toes, exceeding beyond the hot bleak ground that each sole stood on, was a rich, lush green oasis.  It had not been visible from the ship's sensitive monitors above the dense atmosphere, only in the shuttlepods and only when they had passed a thick formation of acidic stained clouds.

The oasis looked almost like the paradise Archer had been seeking out in this deserted planet, the excuse he had sought out just to land and explore.

            He finally took a step forward from the amalgamation of mutant and human to face the six other patiently standing bodies.

            "Alright then, we'll divide into two groups and relocate here again in two hours, as discussed."  He then considered the teams that were yet to be announced one last time in his head and nodded.  "Okay, Trip, Rogue and Cyclopes, you're all with me.  T'Pol, you take Storm and Gambit."

Storm instantly grabbed Remy's wrist, silently but firmly.  Her past intuitions on him were rarely wrong and he had gone to take a step forward in protest before she halted him, as she had anticipated.  

From the moment he had laid eyes on Trip with Rogue, Remy had become burningly jealous of the young engineer, and desired to be possessive over Rogue once again, even though for the time begin in their complex union to date they were nothing of an official couple – only 'fellow X-Men'.  

What sparked off Remy here was the mild infatuation he saw passing between their Southern bred faces whenever they dared to glance teasingly at each other.  And that was only after a day of talking. 

An outburst was close to his Cajun lips, and his narrow eyes confirmed it.  Of course Ororo was not for letting him make a fool of himself and she smiled with a sideward glance at him.

            "Just a little fun…" was all she warned in a whisper.

He growled, but only enough so Storm could hear and understand the sacrifice he was making for her.  They went off for now with no further upset.

----

            The oasis was plenty big to assure that when the two teams split they grew a respectful distant apart from each other quickly.  T'Pol took her two mutant companions slightly due East.  Archer continued a dead route North.

            For the better part of T'Pol's team's trek she took lead, always a fair few strides in front with her scanner open and ears alert.  The scanner continued to bounce left, right and centre, pinning all manner of unrecorded insects and birds.  Her ears were bombarded with a constant low humming and pitches of squeals and grinds from every bush, tree and boulder above and around.

She knew of this planet, of its insignificant and mostly hostile and useless surface.  The oasis was the only strip of habitat worthy of calling home to anything, and despite its size was really nothing much to make a whole civilisation on, or even a mass existence of any species intelligent or otherwise.

            Still, she had went willing with Archer, without complaint or protest, and carried on her work without much consideration on the lack of logic that accompanied being in such a place.  She chose, as an unspoken decision, to ignore it.

If anything the trip with the mutants in toe would hopefully provide some ground to ease away the last of the Captain's apprehensions, and the X-Men's weary confusion and fear.

            Storm and Gambit rarely spoke on their trek, to T'Pol or each other.  From time to time their eyes met, their faces always concentrated in a thin smile as they caught sight of an indistinguishable plant or colossal tree, far surpassed anything on the Earth that they knew.  Often their noses would wrinkle as bittersweet scents passed on a humid, dry wind, or if a spray of perspiration soaked them across their flushed cheeks. 

They remained close to each other's side.  Even Gambit's often aloof and cocky nature was put to rest for the time being as they continued to follow the lead of a woman they preyed knew what she was doing and where she was going. 

            "There's a clearing up ahead, if you wish to rest."

It was the first words to be said between the trio since their trip down in the shuttlepod together.  The last words uttered before then had been 'Call me Stormy one more time…' before T'Pol announced to the bickering couple that they were about to land.

The humidity was growing, and Storm was painfully aware of it as she tuned into what thin weather patterns she could grasp a tight hold of.  Still there was more here to account for than there was on the ship in terms of atmosphere and nature.  In its own uncanny way it settled her and she had to be content with that.

They made it into the clearing, but not before Storm's left shoulder received a fist full of thick putrid slime, its yellow tinted contents oozing slowly over her long slim arm and creeping slowly down to the rotting ground through her fingertips.  It had come from nowhere and seemed to have no source to speak of.  

Ororo didn't speak, or hardly dared moved, but turned to T'Pol slowly with mild silent panic.

The scanner was raised to her shoulder.  "It's not poisonous, but it may burn slightly."

Her tone remained flat and her eyes simply gazed levelly into Storm's.  To her there was no panic and the emitting smell of the sallow liquid was nothing worthy of distasteful attention, although it made the mutant's eyes water feverishly.

            "Just wipe it off."

Finally Storm's face broke and she turned every muscle there into a façade of mortified horror.  Yet the look was not directed at T'Pol, or the oozing slime or even Gambit.  Instead her azure eyes, which began bleeding into a shade of cloudy white, stared fixed and wide over and beyond the Vulcan's shoulder.

They had just come across their first insect.

 ----

            The pale dirty blue sky above began to grow restless.  Archer raised his dark eyes up and frowned as the skies turned murky and the purple tilted clouds rumbled boastfully a low threat.

            "There weren't any readings of bad weather on the ship."

He dropped his gaze and turned it to Trip who could only shrug as he watched the clouds roll and growl with his Captain and the two mutants.

            "Unpredictable weather migh' just be commonplace here sir."

Scott had turned to Rogue.  They said nothing but knew instantly each other's thoughts.  It was something they should have expected.

            "Probably not as commonplace as unpredictably mutants though."

----

            T'Pol hit the solid ground with the base of her spine first and rolled painfully until she was on her grazed side and up against a tree.  She shook off a scoop of burning slime from her hand with silent distaste and spat out what small dose had crept into her mouth.  Her tongue and cheeks ached but she ignored it.

Storm had seen it first but the other two were only oblivious to its presence for a few seconds after.  Its dark swirling red eyes had been following them for the better part of fifteen minutes and its jaw discharging its burning gel with the hope of a meal from either one or all three of the explorers.  And it was no small housefly.  

The sleek black, arms-length pincer that swung violently from the undergrowth and struck T'Pol mercilessly was what proved its worth as something unwilling to go peacefully. It was a good two or three meters tall when it rose threatening onto its back barb clad legs, its glossy outer exterior the same putrid yellow as its discharged digestive spit and its entire physique generally revolting and terrifying to look at.

            "So when dey say 'bugs' in dis 'ere future…  Well dat be one mighty big bug mon ami."

Both Gambit and Storm dodged another wild swing gracefully and force the colossal insect out of hiding and into the small clearing, its head swinging violently from side to side in a rage of confusion and hunger.  It created a schism between the duo and T'Pol, who rose slowly to her feet, showing no sign of pain or injury in her expression.

            The dark skies above continued to rumble relentlessly and kicked into an agitated strong breeze, circling the four restlessly as Storm's eyes remained white and shadowed.  Gambit grabbed a rotting dead tree branch and held it out to the insect's rearing back legs.  It still had all seven eyes and an empty stomach for T'Pol though.  

            "How de weather behavin' for ya Stormy?"

            "It will bend."  She forced her words through tense gritted teeth.

Gambit's branch came alive with a pelt of vicious red and wild untamed sparks of deep golden yellow.  It glowed unevenly and ravenously and the lively reaction even threw Remy.  He was tempted to throw it now through fear of its over-enthusiasm, but his gloved hand kept a stubborn grip for now.

T'Pol's phase pistol had come out of its holster at her hip and was trained steadily on the repulsive insect's dark glistening underbelly.  

With no room for hesitation she shot.  She braced herself for its collapse but that desired effect was not to be.  The neat red beam of hot plasma did nothing more than aggravate the situation.  T'Pol had succeeded in nothing more than making herself dinner quicker.  

The thick edgy skies were filled with piercing screams from the spitting bug as it shied up to its rear legs again and came hammering back down to charge with reckless speed towards its prey despite the continued shooting from T'Pol's pistol.  It would not be dying on her beam. 

            "Duck petite!"

T'Pol threw her attention from the manic creature for just a second to watch Storm catapult herself into the clammy air and Gambit throw his arm with the flaming branch back then jerkily forward as he aimed and threw with deadly accuracy at the bug's unreasonably large head.  

A small tangled bundle of velvety black lightning quickly accumulated in Storm's cupped palms and she threw with as much vigour and accurateness as her partner.  

T'Pol quickly ducked.

The lush dark earth shook and the skies choked as both attacks collided and merged into a comet of crimson and black, crashing with putrid yellow and swirling red to make a rainbow of the massacre. 

With the closest thing to terror T'Pol had ever tasted she folded herself into a tight ball and braced her tense body for an on slaughter of pincers, lightening and fire.  Instead a heavy dollop of reeking slime splattered over her arched back and tucked shoulders, and then her neat flat hair and exposed neck.

Thereafter there was a strange shaken silence, smeared with quivering relief. 

            Storm remained afloat in the considerably calmer skies, only a little above Gambit's head and hovering on the lookout.  Her eyes were her natural blue once again.

Gambit stood in deflated stillness.  He was as heavily dressed in burning slime as T'Pol; only he had it pouring down in generous amounts over his bare face and lips.  

            The stillness remained in tact for the better part of a minute.  Then slowly from the edge of the clearing and still backed up against an elder tree T'Pol began to uncurl from her ducked position.  

A smouldering pile of fetid yellow lay smoking inches away from her boots.  One long black pincher was at rest mere feet away from her side and a gaping mouth jammed with dozens of rows of thin needle sharp teeth grinned at her from no more than a half a meter away.

All temptations to vomit or cry were quickly dismissed of and she stood up in her straight, orderly mannered composure, still dripping with slime but otherwise unruffled.

            "I think it would be best to rendezvous back with the Captain and the others now."

----

            The oasis was also known as Eshikh Zad.  As it turned out, the Vulcans had actually at least named the planet and its oasis, but found it lacking significant merit to go on the database.  If it was on the database, T'Pol (or even Hoshi) would have read its names as Forbidden Forest and perhaps advised against an away mission there.

But this mission was always meant to be.

            The biggest threat in this hostile land came not from colossal insects and their endless hunger but from the cloaked being that sat on its rich green edges.  

It was a figure build from robes of silky black and organza veils.  Little colour seeped out from the attire, save the grey hems of the heavy garments and the bronze leather that was a pair of sturdy pointed boots.  The face was all but buried and two hands lay hidden deep in amongst folds on top of folds of expensive material.  Not an inch of sallow skin showed, only the general outline of a body.

But you could tell there was a smile somewhere under there.

            The teams gathered only a few kilometres away.  Two crudely sharp eyes saw every detail of each individual's physique, from the emitted slime draped over three of them to the neat stitching of the arrayed uniform worn by the others.  

It was pleasing to see so many of them participating in this assignment.  Considering there weren't meant to be any of the X-Men out today, and yet here there stood four of them, showed promising signs alone. 

Slowly, as if under the robes was a body consisting of too many years of life, the being got up from the cold black boulder that had played as a spotting sight for two hours.

The teams began retreating back to the two shuttepods that had carried them to Eshikh Zad, declaring unofficially that they had explored enough for now.

That was all right though.  That was how it was meant to be.


	5. How It Ended In 2015

**_Chapter Five_**

**__**

_AN: _ Again, finally I brought myself to type up another chapter of my most difficult piece yet. But the ideas are flowing now and I'm keen to get on with some of them so this story should be updated more often now, especially seeing as I got a 'satisfactory' from T'Pol herself, which is worth any amount of reviews I could ever get –_smile-_

_Telaka_

_----_

He was not happy. In no sense, in no utter way was he pleased, or thrilled, or with that feeling of ease that he had eventually begun to slowly don about the mutants being on board. He had left his first officer with two of them and she had come back no less than an inch from being taken down for good by a lightning bolt and wild fire ('kinetic energy' he had been told, but he wasn't for listening to the jargon of Phlox right now).

This was at least this was how Archer perceived the delicate situation.

Sick or not Storm was now in his ready room with Cyclopes, and beside Archer was T'Pol. The Vulcan looked nothing of the harassed state her Captain was sinking in to. After the insect attack she had actually thanked Remy and Ororo rightfully, and tried now on a countless number of wasted times to reassure Archer that what had been done had been done solely with good intent. Archer however had had enough and had simply converted back to his direct, no nonsense nature and demanded instantly what this small but seemingly ruthless group of seven was capable of.

Scott hesitated as he asked the question, which was more of an order to answer. His hesitation gave Ororo the gift of speech to take a stand in counter of the Captain's accusations. It seemed she sported now the same blunt mood that Archer was infamous for.

"Captain, we were placed in a volatile situation, and more importantly a situation that we had never in this sense experienced before. You cannot expect us when threatened with our _lives_ to sit back and wait for backup, no matter how you operate in emergencies on this ship. We have been trained to handle ourselves and protect ourselves in the direst of situations, for example when we are alone and cornered, and we _will_ act with our powers accordingly on that. Whatever you think myself and Remy were trying to do to your first officer is most likely far from the truth of saving her ass."

Scott was blatantly surprised – in all honesty he had never heard Ororo say 'ass' before.

"If we had wanted to, we could have overrun this ship by now, and you would never have known what hit you. Certainly I doubt you could stop us. But we are of no threat, I _promise_ you that, and I ask that you believe our word, because that is all that we can give right now."

Yes, Scott was surprised. He also smiled very slightly before uttering a small rough cough as he faced Archer once again, his expression and voice composed and tinted with a shadow of sincerity.

"She's right. It's irrelevant what we can do, and we won't act irresponsibly with our mutations, so we can only ask that you to believe us any maybe trust us."

Archer listened, grudgingly. He barely moved, didn't give himself and inch and he was still not pleased. He would get the answer he had asked for, not a sweet-talked, sugar coated way around it.

"What – can – you – _do_?"

The eventual answer brought him neither satisfaction nor disgruntlement.

Of healing factors and skilful acrobats he had not expected – their nature sounded too docile, too gentle to be the stuff that compiled the terrible legends that had been Mutants. Of total weather control and optic blasts powerful enough to dismember a mountain he _had_ expected, and feared, and knew better as the legends of Mutants and X-Men.

The personalities he was dealing with at the current moment, a well-tempered Captain and tightly composed Sub Commander also came under his list of unexpected revelations.

T'Pol was neither shocked nor surprised and verged dangerously on looking impatient and short with her Captain. Instead she kept her arms crossed and behaved as the Vulcan she was supposed to be – emotionally derived and neutral.

Now, as many countless times before, she had to step in and reason out the situation. More promptly though she did this because Archer had not voiced a word since Scott had started on the answer he had been demanding.

"Sir?"

As T'Pol leant slightly in front of Archer his dark hazel eyes flickered onto Ororo and quickly cemented their sights there on her thick, blazing white head of hair. She shifted from one steady foot to another slowly, almost cautiously as he kept his pupils trained on her enigmatic features.

T'Pol for all her strong calling voice could not arouse him until he was satisfied by remembering rightly what he saw in her.

"You were one of the last X-Men…"

Ororo blinked, and drew in a cold, deep breath. "Excuse me?"

Archer's finger started on Ororo, wavering up and down as a rush of understanding took him and eased the pressure around his temples. He turned to T'Pol almost excitedly.

"Were you around during the Alpha Sentinels' last attack?"

T'Pol's arms remained crossed and her brow promptly slid up as she tilted her head to the side very slightly and blinked slowly in accusation. "I am not that old Captain."

Archer, instantly losing interest in her, turned back to Storm. "I _knew_ I recognised you. I mean," he offered her a small harmless smile, "you're hard to forget."

Ororo touched on her hair subconsciously, frowning as she watched the Captain enjoy his newfound clarity.

His face quickly sobered though and a waver of something akin to pity flooded his darting pupils as they went from one mutant to the other, the memories of their faces becoming less attractive in his mind.

"You were one of the last five as well…"

Archer's fingertip swivelled slowly on Cyclopes and the pity became near to a shadow of angst.

"Yes… You, and… Wolverine, Phoenix, and…" Archer frowned as he searched the duo, as if the fifth name were concealed slyly in their 'X' marked uniforms. It came to him as he placed his eyes carefully on the floor at their feet and he said with some amount of delicacy "Gambit, I believe. The one that, helped save your life, T'Pol."

Finally Archer's frustration and anger left in a meek silence and he looked up once again, eyes anew with desperation and sorrowful compassion. He then swallowed hard and turned to the door briefly.

"There…" his mind raced but there was only one thing he could do to truly explain what was rushing through his refreshed memory now, "there may be something you have to see. Follow me."

As Ororo and Scott eased some of their fears with a weak frown T'Pol found herself at as much a loss in Archer's sudden nosedive in mood as the mutants were. She didn't indulge in a word however and quietly followed at the Captain's heal, encouraging the duo to come forth with them.

They shared a silent gaze. They hadn't the luxury of choice and their trembling curiosities found a strong foothold in their minds. They eventually, hearts thundering for unaccountable reasons and blood chilling with their every movements, followed.

----

There was a beautiful serenity about the small bar on D deck that constantly drew Logan back to its pine benches, carpeted floor and curved bar stand.

Perhaps it was the smell of the stools, the simple sweet smell of wood, something that wasn't coated with a metallic twang or electrical currant, which allured him.

Or perhaps it was the soundproof walls that assured a lull of tranquillity in this small space, allowing a man to be alone and at peace with his thoughts and not the curios tail ends of conversations and confrontations and technical jargon talk amongst a crew of eighty-three.

Perhaps, and most likely, it was the cupboard stocked lovingly with bourbon.

He teased with a small spill of the golden liquid in a crystal glass, swirling the contents graciously around the silver painted bottom before growing bored of the game and downing it quietly. He wondered as he did so whose it was, then realised he didn't much care. It was here and it was one of the few things genuine left on this ride of metal so he poured himself another mouthful.

What Logan began to concern his frayed mind with more was why he always ended up alone in this small corner of the Enterprise. He was in no way lonely, he was entirely grateful even for the lack of milling crewmembers in this small box room, but he was curious nonetheless to the lack of presence in its midst, save Ororo who had dropped in and out a few times now, only when she knew he was here.

His thoughts on the comforting emptiness of the room jinxed him and a quick few seconds later the door was opened with the face of a pretty young Ensign in the new opening to the room. Logan couldn't help but grunt quietly and the Ensign in turn started with a sudden yelp and then a rushed and frightened apology.

Logan looked down at the bourbon. An apology only just missed his own lips as the Ensign stepped in on flighty toes, unsure of where to turn, allowing both in turn a better look at the other. The bourbon glass slowly landed back on the bar stand.

"Jubilee?"

Jubilee was, perhaps, hundreds of light-years and a good hundred or so years away, but the possibility after running through loopholes of the time-space continuum that the young mutant had suddenly appeared on board with the small group of renegades wouldn't have much surprised the veteran X-Man, and tempted him to believe so that it was the girl he had always had a grudging soft spot for.

It was disappointment if nothing else that poured over him in seeing that it was a young woman too old by a half a decade to be Jubilee standing in a halo of light at the door instead. Nonetheless the resemblance was sticking, only that this woman stunk of fear, not bubblegum. You didn't necessarily have to posses a heightened sense of smell to know that though.

"I—I didn't know anyone was in here, Sir. I'm sorry, I'll… just leave now."

The girl turned on her heals and Logan raised his head slightly, turning it a fraction to the door.

"Wait."

Obediently, but with a quiver, she did on the rough growl of a voice, wholly reluctant to deny its order.

"What's yer name kid?"

She allowed her fine, dark brown brow to dip slightly, still with dangerously pale cheeks though as she moved her eyes onto a man of close to fifty years she wagered.

"Hoshi, Sir. Hoshi Sato."

He nodded. "Got time on yer hands kid?"

She hesitated slightly again as she opened her mouth. She had a lunch break of an hour and for some unexplained reason she found herself telling him this.

"Maybe you can help me then, make sense of this pile of floating junk and what the hell it's doin' this far out in the middle o' nowhere."

Hoshi's mind still alerted herself to panic. Nonetheless her feet stepped forward slightly and before a protest could be wrangled she had taken up the pine stool beside the gruff stranger tentatively. She even wore a half smile.

"I don't know if I'm the best to ask but I'll do my best Sir."

"Name's Logan."

The smile grew a little at the corners. "Yes Sir.

-----

To hear of the death of your own sub-race of humanity was something of a harrowing experience; a stomach churning one, turning your head light and all out, through and through confused because with every right you should be dead and 150 years from where you are standing now.

To see it almost defies all words and description of sheer unspoiled horror.

On the large holographic screen that projected historical images from a library in Starfleet Scott and Ororo watched with utter silence Scott fall deftly under a hail of devastating shots. He didn't get back up, and he was the last of the five that Archer had rhymed off to be destroyed by these 'Alpha Sentinels'.

With a flicker of colourfully static the graphic images of a crimson bloodshed that painted out the last stand of the X-Men and their mutant kin disappeared.

T'Pol stepped neatly aside as Ororo sat swiftly down on a chair behind them. Scott could say or do nothing. For a minute Archer wondered if questions would be raised by Starfleet on why he had asked for the files on the Alpha Sentinel operation. To T'Pol it was a perfect example of why humanity had always baffled the Vulcans.

The room where the Tuesday movie nights usually took place had gone a stark, brooding silence. There was a pitting of sick stomachs as Ororo finally stood again and took the side of a wan Scott, close to him, almost afraid if not terrified now of the couple in their presence.

"Why?"

Why… The silence continued.

Archer, in all inexcusable honest hadn't fully contemplated the 'why'. He knew all the fine details and causes the Government had given out once in a longwinded report aptly dubbed "Operation: Extinction" to justify any 'whys'. That we ourselves were close to extinction, that we had tolerated this disease long enough and that we as the superior and rightful owners of Earth had every moral right to seize back what was soon to be ruled by the mutated and dangerously unpredictable. That the X-Men were not the Robin Hoods they proudly claimed to be, and had formed a liaison with our destruction, and in turn were as sick of us as we were of them, and they, unlike us, had no right to claim such a mutual feeling of loathing and such a thirst to take out the thorn of the opposing side.

Archer had always enjoyed history, and had been all too overly enthusiastic to learn about the study theme of 'Mutants' and one of humanity's greatest triumphs since the Nazis had seemingly been destroyed, America ignoring the underground cult of the Hitler obsessed that still exited until a few dozen decades ago.

He stared blankly at the two, and crumbled slightly with murky guilt at their silent, utterly mortified expressions.

"Vulcans have always assumed that humans are somewhat paranoid, and instinctively fierce when threatened. In this case it was a combination of the two, leading inevitably to extreme measures of protection such as the Legacy Virus and the finally attack in the Operation. We have also always thought that mutants were no more of a threat than any human with a gun, or any wild and provoked. Mutants would attack only if provoked themselves on such grounds as hatred for years of stigma or an upfront physical attack."

Archer's misty eyes wore now the sheen of a glare on his first officer. She continued regardless.

"We had planned, around the year 2015 to make first contact with the species, but these extreme measures of protection proved what the elders had been concluding throughout the years of discussion, that they were still simply not ready."

Slowly, almost tearfully but with strict restraint on any outburst of emotion Ororo turned to Cyclopes.

"Scott?"

The leader faced her in turn. "Yeah?"

"I want to go home."

----

It was cold and desolate and the atmosphere reeked dangerously of years of angst and suffering and ultimately destruction. A rogue wind coughed into life, carrying on it the wispy dust of a land long since in decay and desolation.

There was a bolder in a village, the village nothing more than a small rut of houses that for decades now had been brought down to squat in its own collapse off rubble and mossy cement. The bolder itself, a colossal afraid of a scratchy putrid grey that sat to itself on the outskirts of the village, lay not in complete solitude as everything else did on this overcast island, but occupied a threesome of warmth; two bodies and between them a freshly purchased Happy Meal.

"Why do you always get the Happy Meal? These things barely feed kids these days, never mind the two of us."

The less enigmatic of the duo sat with a scowl on a somewhat comical face that seemed permanently etched out in unnecessary worry. The brief spouts of premature silvery grey hair that stemmed from the edges of his wispy hairline, despite a face that only appeared to be early thirties, added to this perpetual image of a man in constant fret of his surrounding, his situation and his company.

His company wasn't, or shouldn't have been, any great worry to him right now though, only the lack of food brought by the considerably more sophisticated and classically mysterious figure made him dwell in somewhat of an edgy disposition.

The second figure sat under a mass of heavy robes of silky black and fine organza, with delicate grey hems, and apart from a set of well-worn bronze boots this was all the colour sported. The face was hidden, the hands retracted into generously sized sleeves and generally all traces of skin kept away from view of the casual eye.

But despite everything of the body that was hidden, apart from a general outline, anyone could tell there was a sense of a smile under the mask of clothing, and it ebbed through in a waver of speech that had every accent of the world fibered into it somehow.

"Ah Daniels. Don't you just love 2015? Worlds full of sweet spots like this and a Happy Meal only costs forty-nine pence."

Daniels, to be forever deck out in his Starfleet uniform, pouted slightly, adding to the appeal of his huffy nature.

"Give me 2151 any day."

Again a smile trickled into the aura of his companion. "A man of the future. Your so old-fashioned."

For a while they sat in a cold, comfortable silence, enjoying the small spill of heat that came from their over-salted chips and grease-drowned cheeseburger. It was little to fill them up, but as a general rule they did not necessarily need 'filled up', in a conventional, human sense.

It became twenty-seven minutes past one on a chilling afternoon on May 5th 2015 and a spell of ungainly clouds began to seize coverage of the dirty yellow skies above. Daniel's companion grew restless under the robes as the clouds above in turn grew tiresome. A dotting of nippy acidic rain began to spit from their overloaded contents.

With another weary huff Daniels hunched his shoulders and sat forward slightly in protest of the pathetic dribble of poisonous rain.

"Still don't see why we have to be here. I've seen all the documentaries and read all the reports. I know what happens as much as everybody else does."

The black hood sat atop the head of the entity beside him began to slip slightly.

"Hush up Daniels. Nothing makes a better history lesson than watching the events of history as they actually happen. I was told to show you this by Them and I'm in no position to protest so just enjoy the show."

A low grumble trickled from the throat of Daniels. "Gotta be a hundred timelines to fix, and I had to fix _this_ one with _you_."

A pair of pale, slender hands crept out from under the mouths of the drowning sleeves of his companion, reaching slowly up to take the falling hood and finish its fall down to a pair of slim shoulders. Daniels turned as the small commotion took place.

"About time you stopped placing mystery woman."

A set of mucky brown eyes scowled him. A crop of painfully short dull auburn hair sat atop a young, ashen face. Pale, tattered lips twisted into a half smile and cheekbones that were far too low shone under a stretch of almost transparent, dirty white skin.

Yet still the girl who looked so much a man under her robes got away with being slightly pretty, if not in the utmost abstract way.

"Games are about to start. Don't want to be missing any of it."

Daniels turned back with his stiffly hunched shoulders and huffy eyes. "No, not at all."

A low whistle hummed through the thick, clammy air. It carried no tune but was easy on the ear, even as it picked up a sharp volume on its travels. On a prompting nudge from his companion Daniels straightened up slightly and peered over his cold shoulders yet again as a young gale began to kick up. Its mutant bodily source flew past his head faster than he could catch his breath from the fright of it.

"So begins that legendry Last Battle Daniels my friend. Now pass the lemonade."


End file.
